Page 116 of Ride the Sky

I should have expected this. I should have been smarter. I convinced myself Pappy would fight for me, would stick by me. But like always, like with Aiden, I was fucking wrong.

Pappy rests a hand on his stomach. “This wasn’t an easy choice for me to make.”

“Yes, it was,” I say coldly. Sparks of temper flicker inside me. I want to rage. To run. “Cut the bullshit and admit it. You don’t need me anymore. And you don’t care about me. You never did. At least have the fucking balls to say that.”

I stare at the hardwood floor, the backs of my eyes hot.

Blood, Aiden, that night, that helpless, fucked-up night.

Everything. Everything bad wells up. Everything I thought I had forgotten. No, not forgotten. Buried.

You’re weak.

Worthless.

You fucked up and now all you have is nothing.

Nothing.

Misery and despair sink into my gut like stones. That tiny ember of hope inside me dies. Like that last neon dream I held in my heart has flickered out.

Nothing can fix me. They don’t want a broken, battered, bruised cowgirl.

Pappy sighs like I’m being unreasonable. “I’m sorry it’s ending this way. I did a lot for you, Fallon, to elevate your career, it’s a shame you can’t see that.”

“You bastard,” Wyatt grits out.

My bottom lip starts to tremble. But I clamp down on the emotion, hating that it makes me look vulnerable.

“Fuck you.” I can’t stop the shaking, the white-hot rage that overtakes me. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

Fists clenched, Wyatt stands. “Get out.” His voice holds the darkest edge I’ve ever heard. “Now.”

Pappy stands, adjusting his tie, and shuffles out.

“I’m sorry,” Tripp says, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s bullshit.”

“You, too,” Wyatt growls.

The smile fades from Tripp’s face. He gives me one last hangdog look then follows Pappy. Engines sound from the driveway.

Shakily, I rise. My head, my world, spins. “He doesn’t want me,” I whisper.

Face etched in pain, Wyatt takes a step toward me. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Tears blurring my vision, I whimper, stumbling forward for the only source of calm I know.

Wyatt.

“Idon’t know how to help her.”

Charlie huffs a laugh as we grab bags of feed from the truck bed and walk up to the cottage. “Fallon doesn’t want help. She wants to kill someone.”

“I ain’t sure, man.”

My eyes flick to the side porch. Five days of Fallon sitting in that damn porch chair. Five days of silence stretching between us. Five days of seeing the turn of her slender shoulder, her back always to me. She’s avoided our bed, avoided training, PT appointments, avoided everyone, since Pappy’s visit.

She wants to shut down. But I won’t let her.

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